


Traditions Are Best Kept With Irish Whiskey

by RagingBookDragon



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Humorous Ending, Toast, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RagingBookDragon/pseuds/RagingBookDragon
Summary: It’d been a long time since she’d been in New York, let alone the taverns in the city. The bar was still as dingy as she remembered, but when the bartender looked up at her, all she could think about was how great a time she once had, a brief reminder of a childhood she hadn’t felt in such a long time. The faces of her oldest friends crossed her mind, and she couldn’t help but think on how much trouble they got into as young ones. With the winter season and Christmas around, she decided to visit them and relive the past, for a good time’s sake.
Relationships: Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor & Reader, Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor/Reader, Ratonhnhaké:ton | Connor/You
Kudos: 12





	Traditions Are Best Kept With Irish Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Day 22 of the Christmas Fics! Enjoy! -Thorne

It’d been a long time since she’d been in New York, let alone the taverns in the city. The bar was still as dingy as she remembered, but when the bartender looked up at her, all she could think about was how great a time she once had, a brief reminder of a childhood she hadn’t felt in such a long time. The faces of her oldest friends crossed her mind, and she couldn’t help but think on how much trouble they got into as young ones. With the winter season and Christmas around, she decided to visit them and relive the past, for a good time’s sake.

***

“As I live and breathe!” the man shouted, a grin stretching across his face. “(Y/N) (L/N), in the flesh!”

She chuckled and walked over, heartily shaking his outstretched hand across the bar. “Glad to see you’re still alive and kicking, Francis. How’s the family?”

The Irishman scoffed and set two shot glasses in front of them. “Traditions before greetings, lass.”

(Y/N) watched him pour the amber liquid into the glass then slide it towards her. She picked it up and clinked hers with his before tapping the table a single time. Throwing her head back, the whiskey went down her throat with a burn and when she came back up, she scowled and shivered.

Francis laughed. “I take it you haven’t had any whiskey in some time?”

She nodded. “It’s been a while.” Her eyes met his. “How’ve you been, old friend?”

He let out a sigh as he poured another round for a patron. “Six in one hand, half a dozen in the other.” The beer pitcher set down and he said, “Lisa Ann passed away last season.”

(Y/N) frowned, fingertips caressing the cool glass as she lamented, “I didn’t know, Francis. I’m sorry.”

The bartender shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault.” He busied himself with wiping down a glass. “Spoke about you a lot before she did.”

Cocking a brow, she remarked, “Really? That’s surprising because she’s hated me for the last ten years.”

Francis snorted. “Because you nailed her knickers to the church board?”

(Y/N) tipped her head and quipped, “ _That would probably be the reason_.”

He chuckled and poured another round for them. “I think she was still mad about that, but she did talk about you. Wanted to bury the hatchet and make good on your friendship.”

She hummed and stared at the second shot. “Eh, our friendship was always there.” (Y/N) looked at him. “How’s Phillip?”

Francis nodded with a satisfied expression. “Serving under General Washington with the Patriots.”

“Should the worst come to pass,” raising the shot, she declared, “May he get to the gates of Heaven an hour before the Devil knows he’s dead.” They toasted and downed their drinks.

“Aye, I’ll toast to that one, lass.” Francis glanced around the bar with a look of nostalgia. “I wish the three of you could’ve been in here one last time.” A smile came across his lips. “Skinned knees and a missing teeth,” he sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to see you all young once more.”

(Y/N) chuckled. “I remember beating up Phillip more than once when I was young. _Glad to know he’s finally grown a backbone_.”

Francis laughed heartily and gazed at her. “The last time I spoke with him, he did talk about your childhoods.”

“Hmm?”

“Aye.” He set the whiskey bottle down. “Mentioned that if he survived, he was going to ask for your hand.”

(Y/N) choked on her spit and pounded her chest as she coughed. “W—what?” she gasped.

“Can’t be that shocking, lass. The two of you were conjoined at the hip when you were kids.” He regarded her with a sharp look. “I was sure you knew his feelings towards you.”

She rubbed the back of her neck and took a deep breath, admitting, “I’m flattered, but—”

“But you’ve already got a feller?” he offered, and she nodded.

“I do,” (Y/N) confirmed, then giggled. “ _And I don’t think he’d be willing to let me go without a fight_.”

“Phillip couldn’t take him?”

She cackled. “ _Oh_ , _Ratonhnhaké:ton would crack him like a sugarcane_.”

Francis arched a brow. “Funny name there.”

“He’s part of the Mohawk tribe. Goes by Connor when he’s around colonials though,” she explained, motioning for another shot. “We met two years ago when I was in Boston.” As the liquor flowed, she said, “Been together ever since.”

The older Irishman went quiet, seeming to mull over her words, then he murmured, “Does he treat you with respect?”

Before she could respond, the door opened and when they turned their attention to them, she blurted, “Ratonhnhaké:ton?”

The Native-Assassin smiled and walked over. “(Y/N). I have been looking for you for some time now.” He set a small package on the bar. “I have a delivery from one of General Washington’s soldiers. A man by the name of—”

“Phillip O’Fahy?” she guessed and smiled when Connor’s face pinched with confusion.

“Yes,” he said. “How did you know?”

(Y/N) gestured to the man behind the ar. “This is Phillip’s father, Francis. I grew up with his children.”

Connor held out his hand for the man, shaking firmly. “I am pleased to meet you, Mister Francis. My name is Connor.”

Francis nodded and pulled his hand away. “This is _your_ feller, (Y/N)?”

She ignored her cheeks warming and coughed to hide her embarrassment. “Uh…yes…this is him.” Eyeing him, she tipped her head to the barstool beside her.

Connor sat down, staring at the other glass that the Irishman was filling in front of him. “What…is that?” he questioned, leaning forward to sniff at the alcohol; his features scrunched up and he pulled away.

“Whiskey, boy. _Irish_ _Whiskey_.” Before Connor could politely refuse, he added, “Any man who is going to stand beside this young lady,” he nodded at (Y/N). “Has to have a drink with me first.”

(Y/N) took the shot in her hand, motioning for him to do the same. They raised their glasses and she said, “ _To the friends we have made_ , _to the ones we have lost_ , _to the loves we have shared_ , _to the hearts we have crossed_. _May your drinks never run dry and your soul never shatter_ , _for those we love most are always the ones who matter_.”

She and Francis tapped their shot to the wooden bar and sucked them down, Connor following, and she let out a laugh when he coughed harshly from the taste.

“Whiskey not your thing, big-guy?”

He shook his head and breathed, “ _Strong_.”

(Y/N) smiled at him, then looked at Francis. “I hate to have to leave so soon, but he and I should get back to the Homestead before Christmas.”

The Irishman nodded and watched them pack up, and when they reached the door, he called, “Come back again, (Y/N).”

She spun and grinned at him. “ _I’d never turn back on a tradition_.”


End file.
